Lyrics and Harmony
by haplessgrapefrut
Summary: A collection of songfics, taken from any genre, language, or culture. Follow the lives of Katekyo Hitman Reborn characters, and listen as they detail their experiences and tales.
1. A Clingy Boy Sticking for 15 Years

A/N: So, my very first song fic. There are no lyrics that interrupt the dialogue, but if you do search up the song, I've incorporated them into the story as best as I could. The song is called 'A Clingy Boy Sticking for 15 Years' and is for Vocaloid, and I highly, HIGHLY recommend that you do NOT read the lyrics yourself until you've finished the story. Please, don't. For me?

I've never put a disclaimer, but I feel like I should here, since I'm actually using a song and a manga. So, I guess I don't own anything. Unfortunately.

Please read and enjoy!

XxX

Lal Mirch sat at her desk, frowning down at a sheet of blank paper. Her pen tapped the desk once, twice, three times, but she couldn't think of what to write. She stared unseeing down at the white parchment, thinking, feeling, and trying to put her emotions into words, but it was hard. She couldn't write down everything she felt. If she did, she felt like the words would burst on the page, splattering ink everywhere, unable to hold her feelings.

Finally exasperated, she put the tip of her pen down resolutely on the paper and began scribbling out words. She let the words flow, rambling about random things and trying to order them in some coherent form.

_Colonnello,_

_I don't know what I'm writing, nor do I know why,_

_But I feel like if I did not put them down, away they would fly,_

_Forever out of my grasp if I did not tell them to you,_

_But here I am now, and I guess this is my cue._

She felt incredibly silly. She was writing to a man that she loved (so, so much, but she never really admitted it to herself until now), and not only was she spilling her feelings like a teenage schoolgirl, she was doing it in _rhyme_, as a _poem_. She definitely felt foolish.

_The first time I met you, I didn't know how to react,_

_So I covered my emotions and scolded you as you slacked,_

_But as the years went by, slowly and inevitably,_

_I began to fall for you, and I loved you fondly._

There, she'd said it. Well, she'd written it. She didn't have the courage to say it out loud, for all her brashness. How did one say these things out loud? She shook her head and scowled, scratching her chin with her pen before realizing she'd accidentally marked herself.

_Goddammit._

She definitely felt foolish.

XxX

That was the first time she'd ever written anything to Colonnello, and it was the first time she admitted her feelings out of the sanctuary of her mind and heart. She could imagine his snickers and teasing grin as he read the poem before grinning fondly at her. She could see it in her mind's eye.

The poem was still tucked safely in her desk drawer.

That was the first year in which she started her expedition out into the land of poetry. She wrote and wrote, still feeling silly, but unable to stop her earnest feelings from spilling over her lips and into the paper. Everything she was too afraid to say was penned carefully.

This continued for fifteen years. For fifteen years, she'd been writing these letters, wishing that she could just _send _them to Colonnello and let him know that she loved him, she just couldn't say them aloud. Instead, she burned them, once a week, hoping that her words would burn into the air and somehow carry her feelings to the former rain arcobaleno. She knew this was a futile hope and immature thinking, but she wished, oh how she wished.

It hurt to say them aloud, to see those words drift from her throat and dissipate into the air of the Vongola mansion.

XxX

That first year, she was reckless and wrote each and every day without fail.

It didn't really matter if she was at the Vongola mansion or if she was on a mission of some sort. She still wrote out her feelings and hid the results of her work promptly afterwards, stowed away to be burnt at the end of the week and wishing that he could receive them.

Sometimes her poems were complete and utter shit, and when she read over them, she nearly laughed at how horrible she with her words. They were awkward, clunky, and with a single-minded determination, she forced each line to rhyme, even when it felt unnatural. However, she could not deny the fact that, even if the poem was miserably written, the words held the power of her love (oh god, she could not think that again, that was way too cheesy). She firmly steered her mind away from the growing sappiness in her brain and took out another sheet of paper, starting the poem with easy grace and proceeding to let the words flow out of her. Afterwards, she even licked the envelope closed and the stamp onto its corner, and then she sent away her letter via flames, her heart's spit and all.

God, she felt like such a fool.

XxX

The second year since she'd began writing, she was still reckless. When she was writing, she began ignoring everything around her, focusing only on the point of her pen and the ink on the paper. This was, in fact, a very dangerous thing. During missions, when she began writing, she would forget that she was in the middle of a potentially fatal zone. It could begin hailing bullets upon her hiding spot, and she wouldn't notice. In fact, in one particular instance, she kept writing even as smoke invaded her nostrils, writing until one of her subordinates had shaken her roughly, screaming in panic as fire spread around their hiding spot.

She had grimaced and barked out orders, transforming into a strong commander in a split second. She had guided them out safely, with only minor wounds, but her pride as a commander suffered a devastating blow that day. She herself had escaped with the flames licking at her heels, fanning out her own rain flames to stifle the heat.

She vowed to pay more attention to her surroundings, cursed at herself for falling so deeply into this new hobby of hers, and very nearly cried that she had nearly sacrificed her and her subordinates' lives for writing out her feelings that would never reach the man she loved.

XxX

In the third year, the novelty of spilling out her guts to paper died, and she calmed down. She'd reached the limits of literature and felt that if she wrote any more, she would lose her feelings. She tapped her pen and stared at her laptop. Clicking on her email, she scrolled through mission offers from the Vongola Decimo, who'd grown to be a man that everyone could be proud of, and reports from various colleagues and subordinates. She groaned and looked at the pile of poems that had steadily grown at the bottom of her drawer.

Halfway through the last year, she had begun to feel sentimental about her creations, and instead of burning them, had begun hoarding them, hoping that one day, she would draw the courage to send them. These poems were significantly more sophisticated and better written than anything she'd written in the first year.

She drew the top ones out and reread them, wondering if anybody who read the would be able to experience her own heartache and dedication to Colonnello. She sighed and proper her cheek on her fist.

"What are you sighing for, Lal?" a voice asked from her doorway, and she spun, her heart pounding.

It was only Tsuna.

"Nothing," she muttered bitterly. Tsuna raised an eyebrow and stifled a chuckle. She wished that this Tsuna would cower like the Tsuna from ten years ago in the face of her coldness and curt attitude, but alas, this Tsuna was much more comfortable with her moods.

"I don't think it's nothing. What have you got there?" he asked, tilting his head and striding (without permission) into her office. She sighed again, exasperated. While she didn't grudge the brunet for walking around the mansion like it was his (which it technically was), but she would appreciate some form of respect and courtesy. She wouldn't hold it against him, though, because this was Tsuna, the one who was a strong and charismatic boss, always looking after his subordinates like they were family. Which they probably were, Lal thought, since Tsuna didn't have much of his actual family left.

"Are these poems?" the Decimo asked, surprised as he scanned the lines. His face darkened somewhat at seeing the man they were addressed to, and after reading them, he focused his eyes on her. She felt like a bug being pinned and displayed, vulnerable and much too weak.

He said nothing about her feelings, though, and put the poem back down. He looked at her with gentle eyes and said, quietly, "You could probably put them up, Lal. They're really good, and I'm sure a bunch of people would enjoy them."

_He would probably enjoy them_ went unsaid.

Lal hummed. "I could," she answered evasively.

Tsuna smiled his sad smile and laughed. "Well, I'll leave you to your own business now."

"Didn't you need something?" Lal asked, suspiciously eyeing her boss. Tsuna's smile became a grin, and his carefree laugh echoed around the room after he was gone. It made the room feel a little warmer, knowing that the head of the Vongola would just drop by his subordinate's office to check up on her and not for business.

Lal put her poems, void of Colonnello's name but still honest to her feelings, on a blog she created that night, and as she finalized and published them, her shoulders felt a bit lighter.

XxX

In the fourth year, Lal wrote for a magazine that had become interested in her, and she started branching out into other issues other than her untold love for Colonnello. She wrote about the world, about people, about the bitterness of war and the joy of peace, about how a corrupt organization always had hope to become something more (Tsuna, after reading this particular poem, raised his eyebrows and grinned brightly at her, appreciative and thankful that he had finally done something to change the mafia into a more law-abiding organization).

She'd taken on less missions and instead focused more on her poems. Her poems began to become prose, and her prose into narratives. She wrote whatever she felt like, and her style was smooth flowing, like the gentle pitter patter of the rain falling and flowing over cobblestone streets. She began to have followers and admirers, none of which knew her true identity. She sent anonymously, under the penname "Azure Kaleidoscope" (she was shit at coming up with names, so screw her).

Lal never stopped writing poems to Colonnello, though, the oblivious bastard.

XxX

These four years, she wrote her love to Colonnello. She'd sent them to him by burning the words, hoping that the ashes and smoke would reach his heart, and she published her sonnets. She never got a reply.

XxX

By the fifth year, Lal was a pro poet. Azure Kaleidoscope became known through the literary world for poems and short stories, all touching the hearts of people all around the world.

Perhaps the most disturbing, however, were the fan letters and emails she began receiving.

_Dear Azure Kaleidoscope,_

_I know that you have a love for someone very dear to you, but I would just like to tell you that, should you ever give up your affections, I would love to have a chance with you. You seem like a sensitive man, and I would love to get to know you. Please email me back should you change your mind._

_Sincerely,_

_A Dedicated Fan, and hopefully something more_

She didn't know whether to burst into laughter from thinking that anyone thought she was a man or strangle this fan for assuming that her love would ever die. The imbecile, she thought, and promptly deleted the email.

Did anyone ever thing that her feelings were not earnest? Did they think she was writing to some fictional character, declaring things that she would have never declared ten years ago, to strangers around the world? She scoffed at them. If they thought she could change her feelings in the snap, she'd have done it so long ago, before she ever let her heart fall in love. Idiots, the lot of them, so inexperienced if they thought she could.

She also felt like an idiot, though, for still writing those poems to Colonnello, who would never see them.

XxX

The sixth year, her body was ruined in a mission that had taken a turn for the worst. As she lay bleeding against the wall, not a bone unbroken or an organ undamaged, she wondered if giving into the cold numbness that was slowly creeping up her fingers and toes was worth it. She didn't have much regret (other than never telling Colonnello that she loved him, but she was past the point of no return now), so she wondered if she could finally give in. She was not a young woman anymore, but rather a jaded, war experienced soldier. What could offer more to her? She'd spiller her feelings in her writings, and so there was nothing left unsaid.

She thought of her poems and their subject.

Colonnello had always been a nice man, entirely too cheery and playful for a grown ass man. It was embarrassing to be around the guy, and she could believe that _this _was the man she'd grown to love. He'd always had a love for life, committing to everything with the vivacity of a fifteen year old. It made her tired mostly, but sometimes she'd appreciate that life in his blue eyes and the humor in his smirk.

He probably wouldn't want her to give up like this, though. She thought that he would probably rage at the world and beg her to keep living. It was his personality.

She dragged herself to a safer shelter, for him, and waited for rescue.

Yamamoto Takeshi and Gokudera Hayato arrived shortly after, with Sasagawa Ryohei in tow, his sun flames already lit and ready to heal.

Colonnello would be glad.

XxX

The seventh year, Lal was in perfect form. She'd reached the pinnacle of her creativity and her writing and…god, she sounded like an advertisement. She snorted as she read the article detailing her rise from an amateur to a professional, and she snorted again at being thought of a professional. A professional mafioso, perhaps.

She toyed with her pen, the same pen she's used to write her very first poem. She'd never had the heart to throw away the empty shell, so she kept replacing the ink cartridge. It was scratched and worn, but she kept using it. She felt kind of silly for sticking to a pen, of all things, but as she grew older, she began finding memories in the oddest things.

(There was that statue in the hallway that Colonnello had accidentally broken and freaked out about, so Lal rolled her eyes and found some super glue and stuck the hand back on the statue. Colonnello looked at her as if she was an alien, and when she'd snapped an irritable inquiry, he'd grinned and announced that he was rubbing off on her.)

She smiled slightly at the memory and began writing.

_Colonnello,_

_You are, my love, like extreme ironing._

_You take the greatest pleasure in the most inane things,_

_But I love the life you inject into everything._

_You have the enthusiasm of a bunch of suicidal lemmings._

She smirked at her verse. Let it never be said that she did not have a sense of humor.

XxX

The eighth year was a normal for Lal. She didn't change, and neither did her schedule. She occasionally took missions and socialized, but she mostly wrote. Her poems turned whimsical, and while her audience seemed incredibly perplexed at where the sophisticated (wo)man had gone, she only laughed in her faces. She wasn't writing for _them_, she thought smugly, but for herself.

She still thought of Colonnello, and some of her thoughts turned dark when she thought of her cowardice and her inability to speak her love to Colonnello. However, she usually bounced back easily. These dark moods had lasted enough time during those first years, and she had had enough of them. No more regret, Colonnello wouldn't approve.

She penned another poem, comparing him to a sumo wrestler and called him fat, although she'd probably still love him even if he was. She then, in a sudden bout of inspiration and complete randomness, compared him to an AMPA glutamine receptor. She didn't exactly know what that was, but it sounded like something important that had to do with the human body, and knowing Colonnello, if he was an AMPA glutamine receptor, he'd probably mess up his job. In fact, he'd probably cause his human cancer on accident.

She continued these comparisons, but never did she stop writing.

XxX

She still hadn't sent her poems written of her love to him. She also didn't ever receive a reply.

XxX

Then the ninth year struck, with all the subtlety of a freight train and the gentleness of a charging rhino.

The mission she'd been sent on had been deceptively easy, and she'd allowed herself to get cocky. This cost her, and as she blacked out as pain exploded behind her eyes. She learned after she woke up that she'd suffered a blow to the head, which explained the utter emptiness and lack of knowledge. She had amnesia.

She'd forgotten her own name. When a man with pained brown eyes visited her, face narrowed in grief and pain, she wondered if she knew this man.

"Hello, my name is Sawada Tsunayoshi," the man introduced. He grimaced at the blank look in her eyes, and she tried to smile reassuringly, calm and gentle. He seemed even more alarmed at this expression, and she wondered if she'd done something wrong. Was she not supposed to smile at company?

"Nice to meet you, Sawada-san. I'm…"

And here she trailed off, perplexed and stumped. _What was her name?_

"Your name is Lal Mirch. You're one of my friends and a close co-worker," Sawada said gently, sitting down. He grabbed her hand, trying to convey his sincere emotions. She didn't know how to read his eyes, and though he seemed expressive and very open with his emotions, she felt like he was hiding something.

"I see," she replied slowly.

They sat in awkward silence for a while, with Tsuna growing more and more uncomfortable and pained with each second. He abruptly stood and smiled a fake smile.

"I'm afraid I have paperwork to fill. You understand," he attempted to joke, and at her blanker look, he flinched. "Right, you don't."

He was about to step out of the room before Lal (that was her name, apparently) asked a question that made him freeze.

"Excuse me, but who is Colonnello?" she asked, and her heart beat a little faster, and her palms began to sweat. What was this reaction? Who was Colonnello, to cause these feelings to bloom in her stomach.

"Colonnello…" Sawada trailed off, glancing over his shoulder uncertainly. "He's one of your best friends," he said quietly.

Lal blinked before grinning dazzlingly. She figured it out, these feelings in her chest and the blush on her cheeks. "I'm in love with him, aren't I?"

Instead of looking surprised and pleased with her sudden revelation, Tsuna looked even more pained. He cracked a grin. "Yeah. You are."

He left promptly, but Lal didn't notice the fleeing figure, entirely engrossed in this new, but familiar, man in her thoughts. She couldn't imagine what he looked like, but she vaguely felt soft warm rain and a blinding grin.

XxX

Through the tenth year, through the eleventh year, Lal's memories did not return. She learned much, though. She saw a picture of her love, and she felt excitement at this man that she loved. She found her poems, and she wondered how the hell she managed to write something like this. She laughed at the poems that she found that were utterly silly, and she reflected that for her to write such things, she must love him very much.

She also wondered why she'd never sent these poems, these letters addressed to Colonnello, and chalked it up to shyness. Lal hadn't met this man in person yet, but she was so excited and waited with her letters for a love that she could not remember, but a love she could still feel.

XxX

Through the twelfth year, through the thirteenth year, Lal's memories still hadn't returned. She learned even more. She learned that she'd killed before, that she'd been on life-threatening missions. She learned why the people were so uncomfortable with her. Apparently she'd never been a woman of words, instead scowling and preferring to order her subordinates around. She had been scarily efficient, though, according to some, and a good leader.

She sometimes wished she could remember these memories, but she shook them off. She didn't quite care, as long as she had Colonnello and her love for him. In fact, her love for Colonnello seemed to be the only thing she had left. Her position as head of CEDEF was handed over to another person, who'd looked at her with sympathetic eyes, and though her reflexes remained, she didn't know how to fight, how to react when enemies were bearing on her and allies needed her support.

Colonnello was all she had, and she dedicatedly wrote letters and poems to him.

XxX

Even by the fourteenth year, her memories still hadn't come back. Every day became frightening and uneasy. She still hadn't met Colonnello, she just wanted a glimpse of him, a word with him. She wanted to tell him that she loved him, she _loved _him so, so much. She was distressed. Maybe Colonnello was avoiding her because she couldn't remember him. Maybe he didn't like her anymore because she wasn't the same woman as before. Maybe he didn't _love _her.

She felt distressed. She just wanted to meet Colonnello, to convince him that even though she was not the same woman, she still loved him. Her feelings never died. She'd show him all of the poems she had written and everything she'd collected.

Lal knocked on a large door, the Vonvola Decimo's office. As she heard a muffled 'come in', she shuffled inside and smiled shyly at the boss. Tsuna, as she'd been told to call him, raised an eyebrow and smiled back.

"Lal, what can I do for you?"

She needed reassurance.

"Does Colonnello not love me anymore?" she asked, somewhat desperately, and Tsuna's entire demeanor shifted. His face grew tight, and he answered vehemently.

"No. Colonnello would never stop loving you."

"Then where is he? Why won't he talk to me?" Lal nearly cried, striding forwards and leaning over the desk, yearning clear in her eyes.

Tsuna flinched, whether at her question or her proximity, she didn't know, but he kept his eyes firmly on hers. He hesitated slightly before answering.

"He's on an overseas mission. He has been for the past fourteen years. It's completely undercover. I can't give you details, you must understand, but don't doubt that Colonnello wouldn't tell you he loved you in a heartbeat if he could."

Lal felt herself relax, and she gifted him with a smile. Tsuna strained to smile back, and Lal didn't notice.

She returned to her rooms, her heart lighter. She would wait for him, even if it took forever.

XxX

In the fifteenth year, her memories returned. She remembered everything.

"YOU LIAR!"

Tsuna calmly stared at the enraged former CEDEF boss, fingers interlaced and eyes regretful. His right hand man, Gokudera, held her back with a firm hand, although his eyes were also sad. However, he wouldn't allow this woman to hurt his boss.

All Lal wanted to do was punch this son of a bitch's face in.

"You goddamned fucking liar!" she screeched, and she attempted to break her captor's hold by twisting violently and dropping. Gokudera, however, was rightly known to be strong and loyal, and he kept her wrists him his hold firmly, his mouth a firm and straight line.

"I couldn't tell you," Tsuna replied.

"You couldn't tell me? Why not?!" she screamed, and she burst into tears.

"Do you know how much it would break your already unstable state, to know about Colonnello?" Tsuna snapped, losing some of his patience. "You pined for him after you lost your memories, and he was the only thing you remembered. He was your lifeline. Do you think I had the heart to tell you?"

Lal slumped, her hair shadowing her leaking eyes. She shut her breath, and her breathing stuttered.

"You should have told me. _You should have told me_."

"I'm sorry," Tsuna offered.

When Lal left the office, she collapsed in front of her desk, filled to the brim with her love and overflowing with poems that she'd written over the past six years. Her hope, her joy, her liveliness, all crushed when she'd spotted that thrice damned statue in that hallway, with a crack running through its wrist and the signs that someone had attempted to glue it back.

She remembered now.

She remembered that Colonnello had died fifteen years ago.

XxX

The poems she wrote were full of anger, bitterness, rejection, and the death of that spark in her heart. They screamed rage at the world, and they cursed at Byakuran for killing her beloved, at herself for not managing to save him, at Tsuna for not telling her, at fate for letting her live when Colonnello had died.

If only she had become the arcobaleno. If only she'd bore the burden of being a cursed infant, to die at the Millefiore's cursed weapon and poison. If only, if only…

She wondered, cold to the core and numb, if her love ever reached Colonnello. She laughed bitterly and killed her delusions.

Colonnello would _never _know. Because he was _dead_. And she'd been deluding herself for the past fifteen years.

She glared at the pile of letters. She wondered sardonically if she should keep writing. Maybe if she kept writing, the pile would reach the sky, into heaven, to Colonnello. Or hell, wherever he was. She barked another laugh.

She moved the poems away. She moved every single last one. They began migrating to Colonnello's old room, out of her sight. She forced herself to confront reality as she faced the musty room, that she was only pining, that she was being _weak _and such a _fool_. She felt like she did that first year, but even more stupid. Writing letters to a dead man, god, how desperate could she get?

Every day, the pile in Colonnello's room, covered in dust and devoid of his smell, grew, and the pile in her room shrank.

XxX

She couldn't see him anymore after he died, and she'd still kept loving him. She deluded herself into thinking she could meet him again, and after her accident, she truly believed that she _could _meet him again. And he disappeared again, right when her memories returned. How ironic.

The poems grew a thick layer of dust. Finally, in the sixteenth year, she sent those poems straight to Colonnello's room, straight to where his personality had been the most private. She'd finally sent her letters and her declarations of love.

And there was still no reply.

XxX

A/N: And there you have it. I tried to foreshadow, but at the same time, I tried subtlety. How did it come across as? Was it too obvious? Please review, I really want to know what you think of this.

So PM me songs that you want, and I'm drawing songs out of a hat at my own leisure. PM, and do not put your request in a review please! Any genre, any language (hopefully with easily searchable lyrics), any artist. Unfortunately, my imagination went into this story, and I'm utterly too lazy to write a chapter for Of Paper, Hair, and Gods. Sorry, guys, hopefully I'll get the motivation this weekend and update. It's been a rough week.

So I wrote this while listening to the second opening to Attack on Titan. There's this one hour version of it on Youtube, and I'm utterly unashamed to say I've listened to it three times now. It's so fucking good, I can't stop listening to it.

Please review, and thank you for reading!

Best regards,

haplessgrapefrut


	2. Last To Know

A/N: Second songfic up. I've gotten a ton of songs now, but if you still have any requests, PM me. I'll be churning them out slowly and not-so-steadily. Once again, the lyrics are embedded in the story, so there're no lyrics interrupting the flow of dialogue or anything. If you think I should change my style, review, and I'll try another songfic method. This song if 'Last To Know' by Three Days Grace.

As a disclaimer, I do not own either 'Last To Know' or the manga Katekyo Hitman Reborn. For warnings, there's non-explicit/implied sex and crude and graphic language. This story is OC-centric! For anybody who does not like OCs, well, there's your warning, although I do suggest you give this a try? I couldn't think of a pairing that would fit the song well enough, so if you have a suggestion, I would love to hear it! I've tried to incorporate as much angst as I could, but I'm still improving on writing emotions, so bear with me. I've always wanted to write angst fics.

Please read and enjoy!

XxX

He just walked away.

Antonio stared at the piece of paper bitterly, fingers clenched around the scrap while his eyes seared with hatred and tears.

There hadn't even been a goodbye. He'd thought last night had been fine. For the first time in forever, Reborn had stayed for the night after a fierce round of lovemaking, and Antonio had fallen asleep easily in the deadly hitman's presence. He'd thought he'd made a breakthrough with the cold hearted man, that he'd finally managed to snag his first love's heart and bind it to his own. He'd thought…he'd thought…

But obviously, what he thought was not true, if the words on the paper were true.

_Antonio,_

_I had fun. Don't look for me._

_-Reborn_

Antonio's heart sank in his stomach, and his eyes closed. 'Fun'…was that all he'd been? Just a bout of fun that lasted for half a year?

Reborn had just walked away from this relationship that Antonio had staked his heart and soul in, and he didn't even tell Antonio.

XxX

When Antonio first met Reborn, he honestly thought the other man was a complete and utter bastard. Reborn was selfish and coldhearted, living to kill and killing to live.

Antonio was a hitman, not as skilled as the prodigious Reborn was, but good enough to freelance and take random jobs. He was always careful, making sure his employers wouldn't double cross his back (he didn't quite care if they double crossed anybody else's back, though, his heart wasn't big enough for that in this cruel, cruel world). He double checked all sources, kept to himself, and when the deed was done, he melted away into the shadows. He didn't accept jobs way over his head, and he made sure that there was always a one hundred percent guarantee that he would walk away from the job alive and in relatively good health.

But of course, it only took one mistake for his world to turn itself around.

He honestly didn't expect Reborn to be there, a bullet already planted in his target's head. Blood and brains oozed on the ground, and there was a messy splatter on the way behind the slouched, dead mafia boss.

Antonio froze in the gaze of ruthless eyes and an unfathomable face. His grip tightened on his dual swords, already laced with deadly poison that his good friend, Gokudera Bianchi, gave him. He stepped back warily, well aware of Reborn's formidable presence. Every hitman on the European continent who this man was.

Antonio was prepared to die, but if Reborn was going to kill him for coming upon him killing the boss, he would go down with a struggle.

(A part of him was very resentful that his mark had been stolen from him.)

"Ah, I know you. The Black Shadow," Reborn said, his dark and velvet voice startling Antonio out of his thoughts, and he scolded himself fiercely for letting his guard down in such a dangerous man's presence.

"And you're the World's Strongest Hitman," Antonio replied. His eyes tracked the other hitman's slow movements, watched as he prowled closer, step by step, silent as a panther. A green tinted gun was held loosely in Reborn's hand, but Antonio had no doubt that the gun could be aimed right at his heart in a second and fire in even less time.

"Yes, I am," Reborn seemed amused. His black eyes looked Antonio up and down, noting his attire. Antonio had his daggers strapped to his waist, and he wore tight fitting pants, boots, and a black shirt, all for sneaking around and perfect for blending into the background, unnoticed until someone's throat had been slit or poison was coursing through their veins.

Antonio raised his hands slowly, indicating that he was of no danger to Reborn. "I'm sorry, it seems as if you've already taken care of my mark. If you'd just let me go…?" he asked.

Reborn's lips quirked up, and he looked highly amused and mocking. "And what makes you think I'll just let you go? Many are after the Black Shadow's head, after all, and I'm sure your head would fetch quite a bounty."

"Yes, but then we'd be depriving the world of my fabulous looks, and who would want that?" Antonio shot back, eyes still trained carefully on Reborn's hands.

Reborn huffed a laugh, and he swiftly pocketed his gun. Antonio didn't let his stance relaxed. Reborn was a superb hand-to-hand fighter, and while Antonio held an edge, as he dealt with close range fighting on a daily basis, he doubted he would win any fight against this man.

"Well, go ahead and collect what you need from him," Reborn gestured, back turned on Antonio as he prepared to leave. Antonio bristled at the implied insult.

Antonio was dangerous and not to be dismissed, even if it was by the strongest man in Europe, perhaps the world. He was very, very tempted to throw a dagger at the man's back, to see his reaction, but he restrained himself. No, it would not do to invoke this man's wrath.

"You don't need anything?" Antonio asked. Most employers needed some form a proof, whether it be a body part or a personal possession of the mark's, from the assassin to prove that he or she had, indeed, killed the right person. Reborn paused, and the remark thrown over his shoulder made Antonio seethe in indignation and rage.

"Well, I'm hardly a low-rate hitman. I don't need proof."

XxX

Antonio sat in a bar, swirling the amber alcohol in his glass. The ice chinked against each other, and the alcohol induced haze that usually accompanied such activities had long ago set upon him. He was at a loss of what to do after Reborn had so unceremoniously left him, leaving only a mocking note and not a hint of his presence. What was he to do that night? Where was he to go? His apartment only reminded him of Reborn, of that time the stronger hitman had fucked him against the kitchen table, of that time when Antonio had so tenderly tended to Reborn's injury. Now there was just cold emptiness and painful reminders.

"Hey, babe, what do you say about coming over to mine tonight?" a breath whispered in his ear, and a warm, soft body pressed against his side. Antonio turned his head lazily, unfocused eyes latching onto a young woman, curvaceous and lively, who was trying to mold herself into his side. He threw her a lopsided grin, his stomach tightening and his heart shrinking at the sting of _this was not Reborn, this will probably never be Reborn again_.

"Oh? That's rather bold for a beauty like you," he purred back, smirk plastered onto his lips and eyes smoldering with half formed emotions and pain, pain, so much pain. He wanted it all to go away, and here was an excellent opportunity, young and willing.

The young woman (she had blonde hair, blue eyes, ruby lips, and soft cheeks, so at odds to the spiked black hair, beetle black eyes, thin lips, and angular cheeks of…) giggled. "I have to be bold to catch your attention, handsome. So, what do you say?"

Antonio threw back the last of his alcohol, securing the inevitable hangover that would come the next morning and shooing away any coherent thoughts for the rest of the night, before he let himself be dragged away.

As he watched her go down on him in a cheap hotel they'd rented for the night, he threaded his fingers through her hair and laughed sardonically, amused at how low he'd fallen without the presence of one man. Another part of his mind screamed, _This isn't happening to me, this can't be happening to me, what are you thinking, get a hold of yourself!_

Antonio pushed into her warm heat, heard her groan, and the last thing he thought was, _He didn't say a word, just walked away._

XxX

Antonio and Reborn had met a couple more times in the oddest places. The second time they had met, Reborn had settled himself down at the same table Antonio had been occupying, glasses perched on his nose and reading the day's paper. Reborn had helped himself to Antonio's coffee smugly, and Antonio snarled at the man, still smarting over the last time they'd met.

"So we meet again, Black Shadow," Reborn said, black eyes mocking over the edge of the mug. Antonio frowned.

"That's my coffee, bastard. Get your own," Antonio said. He knew he was being exceptionally rude and may as well have been taunting death, but it was eight in the fucking morning, he hadn't finished his coffee, and his mouth often ran away from him when he was spacing out or preoccupied.

Reborn took another sip. "I like this one, thank you."

Antonio slammed his paper down, glaring. "Look, thanks for not killing me the other night, but is there something you need from me? I'm grateful and all, for leaving me my life and killing my mark for me, and I won't blab to anyone that you'd killed him, so go away."

Reborn only weathered the rant with a cold smirk. He put the mug down gently and grabbed Antonio's tie, yanking him roughly over the table. His knee banged into the edge of his chair, and he had to crash his hands into the table to prevent himself from faceplanting into Reborn.

It turned out that Antonio didn't need to worry much about faceplanting at all, since Reborn took the liberty to crash his lips into Antonio's roughly before pulling away. He looked way too smug.

"I do want something from you, _Antonio_," Reborn murmured huskily, lips brushing Antonio's ears, and the smaller hitman shivered in spite of his anger. He was released as abruptly as he'd been grabbed, and Antonio was left to sit in his chair dazedly as Reborn strutted away without a backwards glance.

XxX

A shadow fell across Antonio while he was sitting on a park bench, and he glanced up to see Iemitsu Sawada, in all his blond and scruffy glory.

"Hey there, Antonio! How's it going?" Iemitsu asked, grinning widely. He plopped himself on the empty space beside Antonio and looked up at the sky.

"Go away," Antonio muttered, adamant on wallowing in self pity. Iemitsu turned his head and looked at the hitman out of the corner of his eye.

"Ah…so it's true," the CEDEF leader said quietly, and Antonio turned his head sharply, eyes narrowed on the man.

"What, exactly, is true?" Antonio hissed, and rage, anger, sadness, regret, and disappointment rose in his chest. He had his suspicions now that Reborn had left him for a week now, but he hadn't had the courage to confront them, to look into exactly why Reborn had left him, pathetic and broken.

"That Reborn left you for Bianchi," Iemitsu said slowly and carefully, scooting away from the still hitman carefully.

"_What…_?" The question escaped Antonio's mouth, and he felt ice climb over his fingertips, relentless, and betrayal flood him like a forest fire. He thought of perhaps the one person he'd trusted the most in this world, his own childhood friend, sweet and passionate Bianchi, and his breath caught in his throat. _No_, Bianchi knew of his relationship with Reborn, and yet, if what Iemitsu said was true…

"Bianchi and Reborn. I saw them together at the Vongola ball last night, and I wondered what had happened to you," Iemitsu said, gently, well aware that Antonio had been way too invested in this relationship, and Reborn had not.

Antonio thought back to the time he'd introduced Bianchi to Reborn, when Bianchi's eyes had promptly sparkled with glee and hidden desire, while Reborn had brushed her off impatiently. Antonio had been so convinced that Reborn's eyes had only been for him, but how _wrong _he was. That had been only three months after Antonio had met him, two months after their relationship had started.

Antonio started to wonder whether Reborn had even seen their acquaintance as a relationship. Had he only been a sex partner for Reborn? Had Reborn ever even held emotion for him?

And he realized how blind he had been, how utterly naïve to think that he could have had all of Reborn's attentions. He'd certainly thought that Reborn only thought of him, but it was obvious now, that such a strong man would not be content with only a second rate assassin. Had Reborn's attentions wandered during their relationship?

"When…did…" he trailed off, questions jumbling over his head, before one popped out, and his hands grabbed Iemitsu's collar roughly, urgently. "Did Reborn ever go out or sleep with anyone else when he was with me?"

The older man's eyes were filled with sadness, and he responded quietly. "For the last month and a half, I think Reborn and Bianchi were seeing each other. I'd assumed that he'd broken off with you, but I see now that that wasn't true."

And damn _right _that wasn't true. Reborn had grown more distant the last month of their…acquaintance, and of course, Antonio had thought that the older hitman was only busy. He'd thought that the Vongola Nono had only needed Reborn's services more often, for perhaps a big project. But apparently, he'd been seeing _Bianchi_, of all people, Antonio's best friend, the one person he trusted more than Reborn.

He stared out at the scenery, taking in children laughing and dogs barking. Silence descended on the two men, and Antonio thought of all the times Bianchi had reassured him or cautioned him against staying with Reborn. The betrayal stung.

"You know, Bianchi was the first person to warn me against Reborn," Antonio started, and when he had Iemitsu's full attention, his lips twisted into a wry smile, so empty and so bitter. "She said that Reborn was a manipulative bastard and that the relationship was bound to go badly. She was the first to say that we were not okay, that we would not be okay. I didn't listen to her, because I thought she was just jealous. She was so right.

"And then, during that last month, she started singing a different tune entirely. She started saying that we were fine, that if Reborn had stuck to me for this long, he'd stick to me for forever, because everybody knows how much of a fickle bastard he is. I thought she was finally accepting our relationship. She said that we'd be alright.

"She was the first to lie when we weren't alright. We weren't alright _at all_, though, were we? At least, I wasn't alright, even though I didn't know it, and Reborn was perfectly fine, wasn't he?"

The laugh that cut through the air was laced with self-deprecation, and Iemitsu could only watch as one of the strongest hitman in Italy, thought to be fluid as darkness and swift as shadows, was broken by a man who was much harder than soft darkness, who was razor sharp and hard as onyx. He felt anger towards one of his close friends, at Reborn, for hurting this man, for crushing that last bit of innocence that had survived through a whole career of death and destruction.

"He was my first love, and he was the first to go. Everyone knew, didn't they? You knew, Bianchi knew, fucking everybody knew but me. I was the only one blind to Reborn, I didn't see shit," Antonio grinned, all teeth and no humor. His eyes were heated with anger and hysteria. This was no hitman, not anymore, and Iemitsu could only marvel at the transformation. Leave it to Reborn to transform a man who had the most ruthless job in the world, a job that required a stone heart, into a broken mess, crushed beyond shards, into fine dust.

"And when he me for her, I was the last to know."

XxX

Slowly, inch by inch, Reborn wormed his way into Antonio's life. He popped up at the most unexpected of times and at the most inconvenient places. Antonio thought he resisted rather well, but when Reborn injured himself protecting Antonio, who'd made a near fatal mistake, Antonio hauled the hitman back to his apartment and grumbled and growled at having to take care of Reborn. He tied the bandages extra tight and only stewed in frustration when Reborn showed no sign of his pain, only amusement. And when he'd finished cleaning the wound and dressing it, Reborn dragged Antonio closer and kissed him until Antonio could no longer remember his own name.

"You manipulative bastard," Antonio breathed when they'd parted, eyes blown wide and lips reddened and swollen. He felt evidence of Reborn's arousal, and his own was pressed between their bodies.

"Only for the best," Reborn flattered, eyes zeroing in on Antonio's tongue that darted out to taste the kiss they'd just shared.

"That's not what you said the first day we met," Antonio murmured with less heat than he'd wanted and more of an exasperated fondness that he was distantly horrified of hearing in his own tone.

"You're too coherent. Let's change that, shall we?" Reborn asked devilishly, handsome face predatory, and that night, Antonio forgot himself in a flurry of clothes, skin, and sweat.

XxX

It had been half a year since Reborn had disappeared from Antonio's life.

Antonio was still a hitman and still took job requests. He still finished his jobs efficiently, and he was called upon often for hits and marks.

However, these days, he relished in flinging himself into battle at a complete disregard for his own life. He grinned when he felt blood flow through his fingers and his daggers tore into soft, warm flesh, no longer cold from poison, but hot from terror and fear. He took jobs without a care, and he no longer took the pains he used to take to ensure that he would survive any ordeal that might come his way.

As he finished his last job, his boot crushing his mark's head ruthlessly beneath the sole, smearing gray matter and shatter skull into the red stained carpet, he fingered his dagger. He could sense two men on his left, too late to save their boss but screaming for revenge, and a flame user, how _flattering_, behind him. They'd brought out a flame user for him, how cute.

Within a blink of an eye, he'd slid behind one of the men to his left and used his torso to block the storm flames that attempted to descend on him. The man screamed in pain, flesh stripping off and rivulets of blood running down his body as the flames ate away at the fresh meat before them. While the storm user was distracted, he whipped around and slammed a dagger straight through the other man's forehead. He fell to the floor with a muffled thump.

Finally, he faced the storm user, who was pale at seeing the carnage before him and for striking down one of his own comrades. The storm user's face contorted into anger, and he flew at Antonio, prepared to burn and disintegrate.

He was too slow.

With almost lazy ease, Antonio ducked that flame covered hand, broke the outstretched arm, and slit the man's throat.

When Antonio left the building, the boss's decapitated head clutched in his hand and blood splattering his dark clothes, he turned towards the moon and bathed in the ethereal light.

Where was he to go tonight?

XxX

Antonio had shared many firsts with Reborn by their fifth month anniversary. First kiss, first touch, first fuck, first date. Antonio loved this man, this cold hearted man who had revealed a warm center and gentleness that he'd never have predicted that first month, and he didn't regret a thing.

When Reborn said that he was leaving for a mission that would last a week, Antonio didn't suspect a thing. He'd only waved goodbye and bid him to be careful, to which Reborn only looked back and smirked.

"I'm always careful. Who do you take me for?"

Antonio snorted and shooed him out the door.

Reborn returned more distant. Their lovemaking was shorter, rougher, and occurred less often. Reborn slept in other places more often, leaving their apartment earlier and earlier and returning later and later until there were times when Antonio didn't see his lover for days on end. However, Antonio wasn't worried. The Vongola required Reborn's services, and Antonio was determined not to be that lover that demanded his attention infinitely.

He didn't even notice the somewhat ruffled hair that Reborn hid beneath his fedora or his rumpled clothes. He didn't notice anything.

And when Reborn had returned one night, eyes mocking and smirk playing around his lips, Antonio only grinned back and pulled the taller hitman to him. He'd fallen asleep easily afterwards, and the next morning, Reborn vanished like the moonlight, only he never returned.

XxX

The mission had turned from perfect to chaos within a second. Antonio had been contracted by the Vongola, and he'd been sorely tempted to turn down the offer, but the price the large mafia organization offered for the mere head of a common thug was ridiculous, and Antonio was seduced by the money.

Of course, the simple thug turned out to be a very skilled and ruthless thug, with followers and a large amount of people at his disposal.

Surrounded on all sides, Antonio let out a bitter chuckle and leaned against the wall behind him for support. His legs were torn bloody, and he could feel blood trickling down from a head wound that no doubt accompanied a concussion.

"So this is the Black Shadow? How pathetic," the thug said cockily, spitting on Antonio's face. Antonio felt anger rise in him, but he kept his mask of amusement.

"And this is the man Vongola paid five thousand euros for? I'm unimpressed, you're much too pathetic for the price," Antonio quipped back, and his head recoiled when a heavy fist smashed against his nose. There was a crack, and pain spread throughout his face. Fuck, there went his nose.

"Kill him."

All guns were trained on Antonio, and he said, quietly, "Wait."

The thug paused and raised his hand. The guns lowered, and there, _there_ was his fatal mistake.

How naïve, how silly, how stupid of him.

Antonio dashed forward, ignoring the shot that rang out and pierced his shoulder, dagger in hand. He leapt forwards and, in one clean strike, shoved the dagger hilt deep in the man's head. His body was immediately riddled in holes afterwards, and he feel in a spray of his own blood. Distantly, he registered shouts and the sound of guns, of fights and screams. Ah, so the cavalry arrived, but much too late for him.

As he stared at the ceiling, dying (why was it taking him so long to die, he'd probably just been shot fifty times), numbness creeping up his limbs, his eyes focused on a familiar head of pink hair and pink lips. He cracked a smile, and he laughed before coughing. Blood spilled from his lips, and he looked up, eyes cruel.

"Bi…anchi…" he struggled to say, and the woman above him sucked in a gasp, eyes worried.

"Don't talk, we'll get you out of here, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, I'm stupid, please don't die, _we'll save you_," she babbled, pressing against Antonio's wounds. Above her, he saw a blurred man, dark and imposing, with a fedora and curly sideburns. His lips stretched wider, and with the last of his energy, he grabbed her hand.

"I'll be the first…to say that now I'm okay. I'm fine. For the first time in forever, I'm fine, and I've opened my eyes. I'm fine," he said, eyes manic as he watched Bianchi's face drain of color and fill with dread. "_He _was my worst love."

The man above them twitched. Antonio connected their eyes, although he couldn't see the man's face clearly, before turning them back to his former best friend.

"You'll be…the first to go, and when…he leaves you for dead…" Antonio coughed again, and he felt his consciousness leave him. He closed his eyes and embraced the peace that would be sure to follow. "…you'll be the _last to know_."

XxX

A/N: How does one angst. Review, and tell me what you thought! Personally, I hate endings, I had no idea what to do with it.

Best regards,

haplessgrapefrut


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